Zoe's POV
Zara knelt behind a mannequin when I walked in. Only half her frame showed; the other half was swallowed by the tall structure in front of her. A half-stitched gown clung to it—pinned in delicate angles, threads hanging like soft veins. From where I stood, the dress looked like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.
She didn't move when I stepped inside. Not even a flinch.
And I understood why.
That look in her eyes—so sharp, hungry, and focused—was the same one I'd seen in Ashley whenever she worked in the project room on a sketch or adjusted a hemline until her fingers turned red.
Passion.
It burned behind Zara's gaze like a private fire.
Somehow, seeing that softened something inside me. It reminded me that she was human too. She wasn't just the big name, the giant fashion guru in the industry. She was someone who loved her craft deeply, enough to kneel on a cold floor in an elegant office without caring how it looked.
My nerves calmed.
But only for a second.
